


A Cure for the Common Cold

by shiphitsthefan



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Betty Cooper Deserves Better, Caretaking, Episode: s01e02 A Touch of Evil, F/F, Getting Together, Pre-Relationship, Sickfic, Veronica Lodge Is Basically Batman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 15:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9662435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiphitsthefan/pseuds/shiphitsthefan
Summary: This is cosmic retribution for stepping into Cheryl’s closet with Archie Andrews--of that, Veronica is sure. Either that, or the Kimberly-Clark Corporation has succumbed to capitalism and released a virus specifically to target Riverdale so as to sell more boxes of Kleenex, but the conspiracy theories are best left to Jughead.All Veronica knows is as follows: one, she is the worst kind of friend; two, Cheryl is worthy of Disney film villainy; three, it serves Archie right that he has whatever plague is currently tormenting half of Riverdale High; and four, Veronica deserves to be suffering right along with him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My toddler and I have been suffering for two weeks from what a friend has deemed The Appalachian Goat Flu. It has nothing to do with goats, but since goats are my mortal enemy, I accept this.
> 
> But that's entirely beside the point.
> 
> I've borrowed some character development from s01e03 "Body Double" since I diverged from canon, so be aware. Beyond that, many thanks to my Riverdale wife, [aerialiste](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aerialiste/pseuds/aerialiste/works), for adopting Betty with me. We're so proud of our daughter and her gal pal.

This is cosmic retribution for stepping into Cheryl’s closet with Archie Andrews--of that, Veronica is sure. Either that, or the Kimberly-Clark Corporation has succumbed to capitalism and released a virus specifically to target Riverdale so as to sell more boxes of Kleenex, but the conspiracy theories are best left to Jughead.

All Veronica knows is as follows: one, she is the worst kind of friend; two, Cheryl is worthy of Disney film villainy; three, it serves Archie right that he has whatever plague is currently tormenting half of Riverdale High; and four, Veronica deserves to be suffering right along with him.

She’s been in bed for three days now. Every time Veronica goes to empty her wastebasket, more used tissues spawn inside it than were there before. There was orange juice in the fridge; unfortunately, the same black hole that exists in her trash can is not in the refrigerator. Veronica doesn’t remember if she’s changed pajamas, and she’s relatively sure she’s changed her underwear, but she definitely hasn’t showered since the first tickle in the back of her throat.

Misery loves company--she remembers hearing her mom say that. Veronica, however, is miserable and alone and she has no one to blame but herself.

Even Smithers is sick, and that’s unforgivable.

Veronica fumbles around for the box of tissues before pulling one out and blowing a decent recreation of Slimer into it. She shoots for the wastebasket, misses; she tries to hit the button on the remote to turn off _Ghostbusters,_ misses that, too. The TV continues to drone, and there’s a weird buzzing sound whenever she attempts to breath through her nose, and the sun is just downright offensive. Closing her eyes, Veronica prays for either sleep or death, whichever decides to take pity on her first.

She isn’t sure how long she lies there waiting for the bed to swallow her up before there’s a knock on her bedroom door. Probably Smithers; su madre is still at work, so not her. Possibly Jughead, who seems to pop into existence at the most opportune moments.

“Veronica?”

Or it could be Betty, in which case the universe better get moving on this whole semi-permanent versus permanent nap business.

The door pushes open, dragging slightly across the carpet. “Veronica? You okay?”

Veronica swallows. It’s thick and gross and makes her want to gag. “I’m expecting a plague doctor any minute now. Mom should’ve put a biohazard sign in the window.”

Betty’s flats shuffle into the room--Veronica should probably turn to look at her at some point, but she knows she’ll start crying, and Veronica Lodge does not cry. “I was at Pop’s with Kevin,” she says. “Well, Kevin was supposed to meet me there, but he canceled at the last minute, so I studied with Jughead, instead. Anyway,” and her bookbag settles onto the floor, “your mom asked if I could run some soup to you.”

Veronica steels herself and rolls over. Betty looks perfect, like she always does--slicked-back ponytail, skinny jeans, pastel sweater. There’s this edginess to her, though, like she’s walked out of a Delia’s catalog instead of the JCPenney juniors section. Veronica can’t nail it down, but she would certainly love to try.

 _Already screwed that one up,_ she thinks. _Classic me._

“I’m kind of surprised you agreed,” Veronica admits. When Betty doesn’t respond, she adds, “It’s nice to see you, though.”

Betty blinks and looks away. “Figured you could use the homework assignments.”

“Thank you.” She watches the toe of Betty’s right shoe turn inward, wonders if she ever took dance, if, in a universe where Veronica was a better person, she might have danced with her. Betty clutches the rolled-down top of the paper carry-out bag in both hands; it rustles, and sounds almost as sore as Veronica’s throat.

“Kevin says I take really good notes, so I…” Betty finally meets Veronica’s gaze. Her eyes are this ridiculously luminous blue, almost turquoise, like the last pair of earrings Veronica’s father gave her. “I thought you might need those, so I made a copy of them for you.

And no, no, _this_ is the cosmic retribution, Betty Cooper in her bedroom, Betty Cooper seeing Veronica at her most vulnerable, Betty Cooper being nice to her for literally no reason whatsoever and--

“You are the actual best human being.”

Betty raises an eyebrow. “How much cold medicine are you on?”

“I mean it,” says Veronica. “You could’ve told Mom that you couldn’t do it--she knows what happened, I came home and cried with my head on her lap.” Veronica can feel her nose getting ready to run; she pulls another tissue out of the rapidly-dwindling box and pinches it over her nostrils. “I was, like, the--the Benedict Arnold of the back-to-school dance, and I swear, Betty,” she tells her in a high-pitched, nasally voice, “I swear to _God_ that I only went into that closet to keep succubus Cheryl from going in there, and that’s the lamest and worst kind of excuse, I _know_ that, and--”

“Bless you,” Betty says quietly when Veronica sneezes, because of course she does. Betty Cooper would never not bless someone for spewing germs into the air.

“I’m sorry,” continues Veronica, eyes shut tight in case she succumbs to moisture, “and I probably should be taking cold medicine, but I’m not, and _I am so, so sorry.”_

Betty doesn’t say anything. Veronica isn’t sure what she expected her to say; then again, she had never expected to suddenly word vomit all over the girl who could have been her best friend--maybe even something more. She sits up in bed, and it makes her chest ache, and then Veronica coughs but forgets to do so into her elbow.

It’s official. This is the third worst day of Veronica’s entire life. Figures that two out of three would have to do with making an ass of herself in front of Betty.

Veronica opens her eyes, and she sniffles, and it’s definitely just the virus. This can’t possibly get any worse, so Veronica gives up and blows her nose. It honks, practically echoing.

“I know you are,” Betty finally says, breaking the awkward silence. Well, conditionally silent, Veronica supposes, being punctuated by coughing and sneezing and an entire Dayquil commercial. “Your apology was way, _way_ better than Archie’s. He did the whole, ‘You’re too good for me,’ thing.”

Veronica makes an incredulous sound, and it hurts her throat. “What an--well, granted, I’m kind of an asshole, too, but still.”

Betty looks genuinely pissed off for the first time since she showed up. “It wasn’t even a real apology! And then he tried to text me!”

“What a dick move!”

“Yes.” Betty narrows her eyes. “I’m so glad he’s sick.”

Vindictive looks downright _amazing_ on Betty Cooper. “Did Jughead send you on a soup errand for Archie?”

Betty grins, and now she’s back to girl-next-door beautiful. She’s an accidental chameleon, and Veronica thinks she might be falling in love with all her colors. “I think Jughead’s more wrapped up in his novel than in our triangular drama. And he’s ace/aro, anyway. So no,” she clarifies, “only the one soup errand.” They stare awkwardly at each other a little longer before she says, “I’m glad you can talk to your mom about awful stuff.”

Veronica opens her mouth to reply, but it turns into a productive cough. “Oh my God,” she says, sitting up to scramble for yet another tissue, “this is so disgusting.”

“Is it wrong that I’m kind of...not necessarily enjoying seeing you sick but...well, you know.”

“You’ve got a real freak streak under that nice girl demeanor, don’t you?” Betty just slightly tilts her head and shrugs. “I kind of dig it.”

And now she smiles. It’s shy, makes Veronica unsure which Betty she likes better. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I--” Betty looks to her left, scanning up and down the bookshelf, feet back to fourth. “I liked you, too. Before the whole Cheryl’s closet disaster.”

Veronica’s heart sinks. “And now?”

“I guess.” Her hands twist around the top of the bag.

Smiling when the world hurts isn’t new to Veronica. “I don’t suppose it’s something that cupcakes and pedicures can fix?” She glances down at her hands, black polish chipping away. “That’s what Mom suggested, anyway.”

Betty makes it all the way into the room. The desk is cluttered, but she makes room for the soup. As far as the chair, Veronica never hung up the dress from the back-to-school dance, mostly because she has yet to decide whether or not to burn it. Betty sweeps it off of the chair back before sitting down, and that feels about right to Veronica.

“It couldn’t hurt.” Betty flips over the hem of her sweater and picks at the stitching. “Wouldn’t turn it down.”

“Figured it was worth a shot.” Veronica sighs. She wants to thank Betty for the soup, then gently kick her out so she can spend the rest of the day numbly clutching a pillow, or maybe look into a mirror and tell herself that the people she likes never like her back, anyway. Instead, Veronica keeps baring her soul. “I make my own rules,” she says. “I make them, and then I break them, just like the regular ones.”

“What’s that like?” asks Betty.

“What, breaking rules?”

Betty lets go of her sweater in favor of lacing her fingers together and twisting her hands. It’s an anxious fidget, Veronica realized before they tried out for the Vixens. Far better than the nervous red indents Betty left in her palms after try-outs were over. “Yeah. I’ve never done that. Except for skipping my Adderall sometimes.” She wrinkles her nose; it’s one of the cutest things Veronica’s ever seen. “I hate that stuff.”

Veronica makes a sympathetic face. “Overbearing mom?”

“That’s an understatement,” Betty says, rolling her eyes. She crosses arms on the back of the chair. “Ever since Polly…” But she trails off, and Veronica doesn’t want to pry, even though she’s curious. She can blame it on Cheryl. Veronica blames Cheryl for most of her problems already.

Like her spontaneously kissing Betty. When Veronica broke the kiss, she immediately wanted to pull Betty back to her, and Betty looked like she felt the same way, or maybe she was only shocked.

She side-eyes her own fuzzy-socked feet. “Jason sounds like a tool,” offers Veronica.

“Like brother, like sister.” Quickly, she says, “They found him, you know.”

“Yeah, I heard.” And gossip is easy. Veronica can do gossip. “Wasn’t Cheryl in, like, a rowboat with him or something?” Betty _mmhmm_ s, so Veronica keeps going. “I feel like there’s more there than people want to talk about, you know?”

Betty laughs, but it’s too bitter for Veronica’s taste. “I tried to tell that to Polly, but she never had a great track record of listening to me about boys.”

“What about girls?” flies out of Veronica’s mouth before she can stop it.

“She wasn’t like that,” Betty says softly. “Just boys. I think girls would have been better for her though,” and she smiles at Veronica--innocent, like Betty’s light side. “Come on,” she says, standing up and grabbing the soup. “Show me where the kitchen is. I’m suspicious of room temperature soup.”

 

* * *

 

Veronica’s never spent much time in the kitchen here. Sure, she does her homework in the dining room--her desk is too distracting for anything but assigned reading for English--but venturing into the kitchen feels too much like home. Like Dad will be sitting there at the kitchen table, reading _The New Yorker_ and _The Wall Street Journal_ on his tablet. It makes Veronica’s chest ache every time, and sometimes when the front door opens, thinking he’s come home.

“I feel like that,” says Betty, opening the bag.

“Feel like what?” She leans on the counter, tips the stool slightly, ignoring the table behind her.

“You’ve got that wistful family look on your face. Where are your pots?” Veronica shrugs sheepishly. “See, this is why you shouldn’t have servants.”

“Just the one.” Veronica hates feeling defensive about her life. “And Smithers isn’t--he’s Smithers,” she finishes, because it’s really impossible to define what Smithers is to the Lodge women.

Betty finally finds one. “Whatever you say. I wouldn’t know.” The class divide feels like a canyon, whether Veronica believes in it now or not. “Anyway, what I meant was that--that look where you think they’ll be back any minute.”

Veronica hates that Betty understands; on the other hand, it’s nice having someone that, for once, _does._ “Grief is weird.” She picks at her nails again, like she can’t get rid of the polish from the dance fast enough, but doesn’t deserve the smell of acetone. “‘I am not broken, I’m not crying.’”

The pot gets set down on the stove eye hard enough to make Veronica wince in sympathy. But then Betty says, “‘Call me bulletproof,’” and the stove top doesn’t matter, at all.

 _“Lemonade!”_ squeals Veronica, palms slapping down against the top of the counter. “I didn’t know you were in the Beyhive!”

“Don’t tell my mom.” Betty giggles as Veronica exaggeratedly crosses her heart. “I know it was meant more for Josie and the Pussycats than for me, but…” One shoulder hits Betty’s ear as she dumps the soup in the pot. “I’ve never had a boyfriend, and it still feels like an hour-long anthem.”

Veronica nods excitedly until it makes her nose run. “I totally know what you mean,” she says from behind one hand; she fishes in the pocket of her pajama shirt for another Kleenex.

“Spoon?”

“No clue.”

Betty sighs and starts rummaging through drawers. “You’re hopeless, Veronica.”

In lieu of answering, she blows her nose. “Ew. I am gross today. Hopeless and gross.”

“Maybe you’ll feel better after Pop’s chicken noodle.”

They spend the rest of the reheating process in a surprisingly comfortable silence. Veronica tries to keep her eyes on the pot instead of Betty, thought watching Betty’s hands probably counts as creepy staring. Her fingers are expressive, distractingly so.

Betty finds a bowl, and another spoon. “You shouldn’t be taking care of me,” says Veronica, stirring the noodles around. “I meant what I said earlier. You really are the best person ever.”

She leans back against the refrigerator. “I don’t feel like it. I have to try too hard to be nice sometimes.”

“Like now?”

Betty glances down at the floor. “No, not now.”

Veronica feels completely overwhelmed, but she’s as used to playing a part as Betty seems to be. Maybe someday they can let their guards down with each other. She should probably say something; instead, she blows on a spoonful of soup.

“I forgive you, you know,” and Veronica almost forgets to swallow. “Figured if I can forgive Cheryl Blossom for being intolerable, I can forgive anyone.” She chews on her lip before adding, “She came over yesterday?”

Veronica takes a deep breath; if Betty doesn’t want to address her own sainthood, then Veronica will save her gratitude for another day. “How did that go?”

“I might have told her to get out of my house before I killed her.”

“Holy shit, Betty.”

She looks immensely pleased with herself, and there’s Veronica’s dark Betty back again. “Red lipstick makes me feel powerful, apparently.”

“I have some upstairs,” Veronica says. Maybe the virus really has gone to her head.

“Maybe I’ll take you up on a makeover when you aren’t full of mucus.”

Veronica grins as much as she can around her mouthful of soup.

 

* * *

 

Betty’s notes are immaculate--she didn’t use a copier, though, but wrote Veronica a set _by hand._ They don’t spend the afternoon working on homework, though. When she discovers that Betty hasn’t seen the new _Ghostbusters,_ Veronica starts it over. Betty plops down next to her on the bed in spite of Veronica’s warnings of imminent toxicity.

Secretly, Veronica is happy Betty would risk catching the plague just to sit with her.

 _Ghostbusters_ goes off, and then Veronica makes her watch _The Breakfast Club_ because, “It’s basically a rite of passage.”

Veronica’s desperately trying to think of another movie to keep Betty from leaving, and then Betty tells her, “You’re a good kisser.”

“What?” _Oh, way to go, Veronica. Great answer._

“You--you’re a good kisser.” She meets Veronica’s eyes. “I wanted to go into the closet with you. And then you kissed Archie, or maybe Archie kissed you. I really don’t want to know. Either way, I look at your mouth and all I can think about now is you and Archie kissing. That’s what upsets me the most about the whole thing.”

Veronica has no idea what to say besides, “You deserve so much better than either of us, Betty. You deserve better than Riverdale. You deserve the world.”

“I want to kiss you again,” says Betty--maybe Veronica was too serious, or too heartfelt, or too hard to believe. “It’s gonna be awhile before I can think about kissing you without thinking about Archie.

Nodding makes Veronica’s sinuses hurt. “I get that. I really, really do. And I’m--I want to cry about it now, but I can’t, because you’re right. I hurt you, and I wish I could take it back.”

Betty looks at her for a long time. The title menu for _The Breakfast Club_ keeps repeating itself. Veronica watches Betty’s fingertips come up to her own mouth, and then she touches Veronica’s cheek. Her nose starts running, and Betty reaches for the box of tissues. It’s an appropriate way to break the moment, Veronica snorting into a Kleenex and Betty wiping her hand on her jeans.

She doesn’t deserve Betty Cooper--not even new Veronica, not by a long shot--but it looks like she’s got her, whether Veronica does or not.

**Author's Note:**

> [[about me](http://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/about)] [[tumblr](http://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/)] [[twitter](https://twitter.com/shiphitsthefan)]
> 
> Kudos and [comments](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shiphitsthefan/profile) validate my existence. <3


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